


The Whole World

by thewaterfalcon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaterfalcon/pseuds/thewaterfalcon
Summary: Sometimes love sends people down the worst of paths. Sometimes the best of people have to do the worst of acts. Sometimes it kills them. Sometimes it makes them.
Wordsmiths&Betas Marriage Law competition entry. Best Angst Winner.
Voldemort wins AU.





	

* * *

  
  


_ Part One _

 

Aftermath

 

* * *

  
  


The air surrounding the courtyard was thick; with dust and magic and death.  _ Maybe this  _ was _ death _ , she mused as her gaze drifted over uncountable piles of grey stone and dead bodies rife with bloodstains and scorch marks; perhaps this was some clichéd form of Hell. 

A deep cut was grooved into the palm of her left hand;  _ strange,  _ her thoughts voiced as she drew the injured appendage closer to her face as she lazily scrutinised the dirt-strewn laceration,  _ it doesn’t hurt,  _ the realisation of which, if anything, only lent more weight to the argument that she was very possibly dead. 

She had absolutely no understanding as to how long it had been since she’d crouched down, at some unknown point in time _. Does time even exist anymore?  _ She had acknowledged to herself that she was, in fact, not standing, as she’d previously believed to be the case, but positioned on her knees. And in fact, the more she reflected, she had no knowledge of  _ how _ she’d come to be at this particular part of the courtyard, considering the last she remembered she had been surrounded by friends: friends who their enemies were attempting to pick off, one by one. Whether they were successful, or if her friends had managed to... _ win? Escape?  _ She didn’t know.  

Gingerly she rose, unsteadily to her feet and eventually succeeded in pulling her body fully upright, a feat she had no memory of ever having difficulties achieving prior, and began to navigate the broken building she was currently occupying; a place which, possibly until today, had been home…

 

Incoherent, distant sounds filled her ears all of a sudden.  _ Perhaps they’d always been there? _ She wondered fleetingly, not particularly interested in knowing whether this was the case or not. Turning her head in the direction of the noise, primarily what sounded like faraway shouts, she halted. An educated guess informed her that their location was likely to be the Great Hall, where mere hours before she’d sat on a long wooden bench, in front of a long wooden table, and ate from a simple, white, ceramic plate.She  drank from a goblet-shaped glass, as though the day ahead held nothing out of the ordinary. She snorted to herself, _ as this day wouldn’t hold the beginning of...this. _

Once more she moved, continuing her passage through the aftermath, the remnants of the battle that, bizarrely felt like a distant memory despite having only occurred. She thought it had only been a few hours; perhaps less, perhaps more, she cared not for any particulars. She wondered, briefly, whether her friends were safe and if a victory had occurred, although somehow, even though these details  _ should  _ be important focal points, she didn’t seem capable of fixating on what their answers could be for longer than a few seconds at a time.

And so she walked, with distant shouts and once-familiar walkways, now almost unrecognisable; caved in and sometimes bloody, to guide her. The Great Hall was a short walk away from the courtyard, the journey should, and on many occasions had only taken a matter of a few minutes. This time, however, it was as though she was striding through invisible treacle. She went with it blearily and ambled along at the slowed pace. 

Meeting no one, it wasn’t until she was finally positioned at the entrance to her destination, which had all but gone entirely silent, that her eyes finally rested upon another live human; and another and another, until she had made out the profile of a number of people. Most were standing, stark still,one was pacing a small oval space created by the onlookers.

 

“And now...I reign VICTORIOUS!” The centre figure was tall and cloaked and he alone spoke into the quiet; the last word was cried loudly, elongated and ending in a hiss. The reticence dissipated all but entirely as a number of shouts, chants and cheers filled the large room. 

She swallowed dryly, as her brown eyes swept the Hall. Until she heard, through the din of celebration, a minuscule slice of normality. 

“Ev? Ev is that you? Thank fuck!” before rushed footsteps hurried their way towards her, and a pair of dark eyes momentarily found hers, before she was lifted from her feet, and a familiar pair of arms crushed her, pulling her into a tall frame. “I thought… I thought I’d lost you,” she heard him stammer somewhere against her shoulder.

“Gods, Ev. We thought for sure you were a goner.” A second voice, full of relief, spoke from her left. Turning, she was met with a concerned face and a furrowed brow. He observed her. “Mate, she needs medical attention, look,” the second figure spoke to the first, gesturing towards her hand, which she now noticed had blood openly spilling from the wound she’d noted earlier. The first nodded once, his face paling at the sight of the gash. “She’s lost a lot of blood, no wonder she can barely stand,” she heard the second figure say before she became dimly aware of the first scooping her into his arms, her injured hand thrust ungracefully to the side where it hung as she was quickly carried the length of the hall. 

“Help her… she needs… her hand.” 

Unaware of anything bar a few strung-together words, she realised her eyes were closed and her body was currently experiencing a sense of weightlessness she attributed to flying a broomstick, if a broomstick allowed the rider to fly on his or her back, with no support whatsoever of course.  

 

“What if she-”

 

“-going to-”

 

“-replenishing now.”

 

“Her mother, fuck, it was-”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

She possessed neither reason nor desire to find out what any of the disjointed phrases meant. Her mind, for some unknown reason, was choosing to drift in and out of consciousness.

 

“-responding, she’ll be-”

 

“How did she even-”

 

“-MOTHER, mate how the fuck do I even-”

 

“-isn’t she awake yet?”

 

“Ev, baby, wake up.”

 

“Okay.” She heard herself murmur as her eyes fought against her attempts to open them. She became aware, for the first time of a dull, throbbing pain in her left hand, a searing heat in her right leg and a pounding soreness resonating from her forehead. “Am I dead?” S\she whispered, feeling the well-known hand squeeze her arm, 

“No baby, you’re in shock.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied, feeling neither elation nor disappointment at the revelation of her current status. 

“Is she strong enough to side-along?” She heard the same voice query aloud.

“Technically yes, but she’s at much greater risk of splinching. I wouldn't advise it but given the circumstances… Be  _ very  _ careful.”

She somehow felt _ ,  _ rather than saw him nod, before he planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to get us out of here, hang on one sec, okay?”

“Mmmhmmm,” she answered dazedly, wondering where they would be heading, yet knowing she didn’t really care.

He wasn’t gone for long, he may not have been gone at all, she didn’t know. What she  _ did _ know was that he was suddenly pulling her into his arms once more. She blearily observed the small part of her surroundings she was able to see, they were almost entirely deserted. Bangs and laughter could be heard around them, though he paid them little notice, and neither did she. 

“You know where to go, yeah? Drawing room would be better, you can get her to one of the downstairs bedrooms easily enough from there,” she heard from somewhere behind her. She felt the arms beneath her stiffen and all of a sudden she felt as though she was pulled through a giant, invisible band. She gasped for breath and then, as quickly as it had started, it was over, and she opened her eyes to find them in a cold and dark, but still impossibly grand, room. 

She heard the sound she knew was another apparition close by, and she managed to peek over the shoulder of her carrier, to see a pair of familiar eyes lock onto her own. 

“C’mon,” the other said, leading them through a pair of large doors, and down a large corridor. They didn’t have to move for long, before they stepped into a lamp-lit room and she saw, and then felt herself being lowered into _ ,  _ a large bed. Allowing her eyelids to droop and close, she listened to the discussion going on between her two companions as she felt an odd calm overtake her body.

“I’ll get one of the elves to continue her care. Best I can do, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Course… Mate?”

“Yeah?”

“You have to tell her.”

“I know.”

She heard a set of hurried footsteps leave the room and continue to echo through the hallway they had come from. A weight pressed down on one side of the bed, as she felt his body slump into the bedding. WIth difficulty, she opened her eyes. The pain from her hand was suddenly back,intensifying and her leg was beginning to throb. His dark eyes were staring at her intently. “We’re going to get you some more pain potions,” he said, relatively evenly, but she didn’t miss the crack in his voice. 

“What’s wrong?” She inquired, stroking his face with a brush of her fingertips, the majority of her hand was covered in a hastily thrown together bandage. 

He shook his head, “I don’t even know how to tell you this, but...I have to.”

“I can handle it.”

He nodded but remained silent, not meeting her gaze as he took deep breath after deep breath until finally, his dark gaze examined her face, before he cleared his throat and finally spoke; “You know the Order, were all there, tonight?” She nodded, throat dry, sensing the direction his recollection was heading.

“Your,” he paused, clearly taking care choosing his words, “they were  _ all  _ there, and well, in the end, right before he took down Potter, there was another duel, it was...pretty fucking crazy…”

She listened, her breathing ragged at his anecdote, knowing she was failing to take in everything he was saying; “ _ Bellatrix, I mean you know how fucking crazy she is… _

_...and well, it was lasting ages, nobody expected….successful curse, but rebounded I guess and...they both just...they were both gone...they’re both gone.” _

“Theo?” She spoke his name aloud, all but forcing him to reveal the truth he was so desperately clinging to. And he did, and she listened, hearing but barely processing. 

 

She heard herself gulp as he concluded, “I’m so sorry, Evra.” He finished, meekly. She knew that sentiments were not a particularly strong suit he held in his possession. She nodded, once again, numb. Still through shock, though this time an entirely different kind. 

“It’s funny,” she began after a long, silent pause, “I feel like she never knew me at all.” Looking at Theo’s face, his ashen expression looked downtrodden, his eyes expressing the pain she knew he felt for her as she felt his hand stroke her arm lightly, she knew he was listening intently to her as his arms snaking around her, holding her as she finished; “The last time I properly spoke to her, I...I wasn’t Evra...I wasn’t even  _ Gin _ evra. I was Ginny.”  

 

* * *

  
  


_ Part Two _

 

Beginning

 

* * *

 

 

He held her still, through her numbness and recovery. Whenever he was there, he was holding her.

Evra’s feelings seemed to have taken a temporary hiatus, after being declared physically healed, a week of bedrest; regular blood replenishing potions, on top of the exemplary healing knowledge  surprisingly held by the Malfoy House Elves, had ensured she only bore a thin scar on her hand as a momento. The fleeting pangs of sadness she did feel were few and far between. In truth, Evra found herself internally querying  _ how  _ to feel, and  _ what _ , if anything, she  _ should  _ feel. The stark reality was, she just didn’t know.  _ How does one feel grief for the person who threatened to lock her up, who punished her for falling in love and for no longer believing in what she once stood for? How does one feel sorrow for any ‘Chosen One’ falling, when her faith in his cause had diminished well over a year ago? _

Theo was required to attend almost daily meetings, which Evra was excused from, pending her full recovery. The dark haired wizard attended to her every evening, reporting the day’s events and news to her. 

The Dark Lord had not spent the time immediately following his victory celebrating, like many of his followers. The very evening after the Battle had ceased he himself had flown all the way to the Ministry of Magic, Pius Thicknesse, still under the control of the Imperius Curse, in tow, and began to make longer term plans for the running of Wizarding Britain. According to Theo, the Dark Lord had informed them that he’d relished in the releasing of Thicknesse from his curse, torturing the ex-ministry worker senseless around the Minister of Magic’s office, informing him of his role in the Dark Lord’s reign. 

“Why bother even bringing him?” Evra had questioned Theo, confused.

Theo scratched the back of his head as he raised his shoulders in a quick shrug; “If you ask me, probably just for the hell of it. This is  _ his _ beginning.”

Evra nodded, “I suppose.”

“How’re you doing, baby?” Theo asked, reaching for her, running his thumb over the back of Evra’s hand. 

She looked down, examining the cream bed covers, “I...I don’t know,” Evra confessed, “how am I supposed to be?”

“No one can answer that,” Theo’s voice was low, his thumb tracing imaginary circles over his witch’s hand. 

“At least...we’re alive.” Evra replied after a long minute, her gaze shifted upwards, enabling her to scrutinise his face. 

It was Theo’s turn to nod, his dark eyes meeting her brown. He positioned himself closer to her, using his free hand to brush his fingertips down her cheek. “ _ You’re  _ alive, and that’s all I care about.”

They stayed, in a comfortable silence, for a number of minutes Evra didn’t count, her eyes closed as Theo’s hand rhythmically worked its way towards her ear, and landed in her hair, where it palmed handfuls of her thick, red locks.

“I think I might be...broken.” Evra eventually whispered.

“Oh, baby…-” Theo began, before Evra cut him off; “-not  _ that  _ kind of broken, I think  _ I’m  _ broken, I don’t feel  _ anything _ , Theo.”

Theo gave a small smile, he removed his hand from her hair and grasped the other hand; he brought her hands together, entangled in both of his. “Evra, you  _ aren’t  _ broken. You’re most likely still in shock, and I have no doubt if…” he paused, his face unreadable, “-things were different,  _ you’d _ feel entirely different. Maybe, deep down, you know you can’t really show you’re sad over...anything. Or maybe, you already sort of grieved, when you left.” 

“That makes sense.” She answered honestly. The ties she’d severed with her family  _ had _ hurt her, not at the time, but months after. A part of herself she pushed so deep she scarcely remembered feeling the loss. Perhaps, she mused, she’d already cut herself from that part of her life so entirely, she’d already said goodbye. 

A short, sharp knock on the door disrupted Evra’s thoughts, Theo met her eyes briefly before crying a brisk “Yeah?”

Draco’s pale, pointed face appeared as the blonde wizard opened the door just enough to peek around, “The Dark Lord asked me to fetch you both, he’s waiting in the front dining room,” Draco spoke calmly, his eyes flickering between the two figures on the bed.  

“Both of us?” Theo asked, glancing fleetingly at Evra before directing his attention to his best friend once more.

Draco cleared his throat and nodded, “I think he expects Ev to be recovered enough to at least walk to him.”

“It’s fine,” Evra spoke, before Theo could, “I’ll come, just give me a minute to put some clothes on...do I have any clothes here?” The thought suddenly occurring to her that the thought of walking through the ground floor of Malfoy Manor wearing nothing but one of the nightshirts she’d been wearing for the past week was not a particularly appealing one. 

Draco flicked his wand, casting a spell non-verbally, “I’ve summoned something of mine,” he informed her, as, right enough, a pair of black lounge trousers and green t-shirt levitated themselves into the bedroom. 

“Thanks,” Evra responded, gratefully as Draco nodded and ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him. After dressing quickly, she and Theo set off through the maze of corridors required to take them to the dining room, which incidentally had ceased to exist as a place of eating ever since the Dark Lord had invited himself to use the Manor as his permanent residence, months before. 

As they approached, voices could be heard, all familiar and all raised. Rabastan Lestrange and his brother Rodolphus were clearly in the company of Lucius Malfoy and the Dark Lord himself. Evra glanced at Theo, grasping his hand in her own as they approached the commotion.

“My wife is dead, Rabastan! Dead! You really think claiming Muggle fucking whores is going to help?”   
“Get your fucking wand out of my face! I mean it... _ brother.”  _ Rabastan spoke the last word as though it was one he despised. 

“Enough!”   
“SHUT UP LUCIUS!” The collective, identical shout from both Lestrange brothers pierced the air, which was followed by a deafening silence until Evra heard a cold laugh escape the slightly-ajar door. 

“Rodolphus, I too am...shocked, and saddened by dear Bella’s murder, but fighting amongst ourselves is  _ not  _ going to bring her back.”   
“I know that my Lord, I apologise. I just...I want justice.”

“Of course,” Voldemort replied, elongated the ‘s’ sound at the end of his words, “I suggest you go and extract your vengeance against anyone who opposes us.” He hissed. 

“I...I will, my Lord.”

“Good. Now, I have another...engagement, which is most likely approaching as we speak.” The dark wizard said, before snapping, “Lucius don’t be so rude. Get the door!”

The door was indeed opened, and Lucius Malfoy’s pale face met the waiting couple as the Lestrange brothers exited the dining room, Rabastan slightly in front, the man offered a nod at Theo, murmuring “Nott” as he passed, Rodolphus’ gaze fell on Evra, who, since she had basically pledged her allegiance to them, was not one to be phased by Death Eaters, yet something in the way Rodolphus’ eyes flickered over her had filled her very core with unease. She had no time to dwell on it however, her attentions almost immediately forced upon the cloaked figure gesturing to them to enter the once dining room. 

“Young Theodore, and Ginevra.” Voldemort said, his mouth twisting into something of a smile. Evra bowed her head in unison with Theo, before clearing her throat and, bravely countering; “Please, my Lord, call me Evra. I left my life as Ginevra behind.”

His mouth stretched into the same smile from moments ago, “Of course...Evra. Take a seat, both of you.” He finished, gesturing to the empty chairs situated to one side of a large, mahogany table. “Lucius, inform one of your Elves to bring my young guests some refreshments.”  Evra couldn’t help but notice his tone had an air of disdainment to it whenever he addressed the elder Malfoy. 

“Yes, my Lord, of course. Bently!” Lucius addressed the thin air in front of him, where, a second later, a House Elf appeared, not one that had been attending to Evra during her recovery.

“Good, Lucius you are excused.”

“Right, my Lord,” Lucius answered, bowing low, before exiting the room. The door closed sharply behind him. 

Neither Theo nor Evra spoke, both stayed still, poised, awaiting the reveal of whatever Voldemort had summoned them for. When he eventually spoke, he directed himself entirely towards Evra. “How are you feeling now, Evra. I was informed of your injuries.” 

“Better now, thank you, my Lord.”

“Excellent, I don’t suppose you’ve had much chance to get to grips with much that’s happened this week.”

“Only what Theo has told me,” Evra answered, wondering where the direction of this meeting was headed. 

“Of course,” Voldemort replied, lacing his thin fingers together atop the dark wooden table. At that moment, the House Elf, Bailey, reappeared, carrying a circular tray laden with a bottle of firewhisky; and three glasses which housed three cubes of ice each. The small Elf bowed to each of them in turn before disappearing through the door he had entered from. 

“Please,” Voldemort politely gestured towards the tray, and Theo grabbed the glasses and dished them out before pouring a generous measure of the liquor in each. 

“I’m assuming you are wondering why I have called you here,” Voldemort began, which caused both Evra and Theo to elicit a slight nod. “As I’m sure you’ve both realised, I will expect you to take the Dark Mark.” Evra was unsurprised by the words; she and Theo had discussed the fact that they would be expected to take the mark at some stage. She heard Theo reply, “Of course, my Lord. We had assumed you would request this of us at one point or another.”

“Excellent, I hope to have a marking ceremony scheduled for this coming weekend.” Both Theo and Evra nodded at his words. 

“Secondly, Evra,” Voldemort continued. “I must inquire,” his red eyes bored into hers as he spoke, delectably calm and collected, “you will be aware, by now that it was your blood traitor mother who was responsible for the death of Bellatrix, yes?”

Evra found her gaze was directed at the table in front of her, her cheeks burned as she felt Voldemort’s eyes upon her still. 

“She is the woman who birthed me, my Lord.” Evra began, “Nothing more.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear it,” she heard him hiss, his voice level and calculated; “I wanted to check there was no...questioning... of your loyalty to...our cause.”

Evra looked up, finding the courage to meet Voldemort’s eyes as a hundred memories wove in front of her mind’s eye. She felt Theo’s hand find hers, giving it the smallest of squeezes, reaffirming that somehow, with her wizard, in this new beginning and the newest chapter of their lives, was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“No, my Lord, none at all,” Evra answered honestly.

 

* * *

  
  


_ Part Three _

 

Arising

 

* * *

  
  


_ “Ginevra you are sixteen years old. You have no more idea of what love is than that mop.” Molly Weasley screamed, her right hand jerking towards the corner of the Burrow’s small kitchen, where a collection of tall cleaning instruments were standing, leaning against the wall, her face mere inches from her daughter’s. “On top of that, do you have the faintest idea of just what the Nott family are? If this Theodore is anything like his father-”  _

_ “He’ll what?!” She cried back, just as loud, her patience dwindling more and more by the second, “Actually have some success in life?!” _ _   
_ _ Molly stopped, her face downtrodden, even through her rage; “GO TO YOUR ROOM! NOW!” _

 

Evra smiled as her boyfriend walked through the bedroom door, returning her sentiment as he crossed the room, his arms snaking their way around her waist, she felt herself leaning into him, relishing the feel of his body on hers.  _ Everyone was wrong about us,  _ she thought to herself, closing her eyes happily. 

 

_ “You came,” Theo stated, his eyes drifting over her toned body as she waltzed towards him.  _

_ “Of course I did,” she exclaimed, tapping her index finger on his nose before leaning backwards, knowing her body was perfectly positioned in an endearing slouch against a nearby wall. She bit her lip, earnestly watching the way his eyes darted hungrily over every inch of her.  _

_ “Nice necklace,” he remarked with a smirk at the long, rose gold chain hanging over her chest. The chain held a diamond-encrusted heart pendant. She briefly raised her eyebrows, and met his smirk with her own, “Yeah, it’s alright,” she began, feigning disinterest, “this guy bought me it for my birthday. Pretty sure he just wants to fuck me. Shame he’s a massive loser.”  _

_ “Is that so? He sounds like a dick.” _

_ “He is,” she laughed, “you really didn’t have to,” she added, sincerely, “I’m not used to…” she trailed off, gesturing her hands at her necklace. _

_ “One day, Ginevra, I’ll give you the whole world.” _

_ “Don’t call me Ginevra!” _

_ “What about Gin?” Theo asked, smiling, as he stepped forward, pressing himself into her, his face finding the top of her shoulder. _

_ “Errr, what about no?” Her answer was followed by a groan as Theo began placing a trail of gentle kisses over her shoulder blade. _

_ “Okay...Evra?” He asked between his kisses, which had now met her jawline. _

_ “I like that.” She told him, leaning her head back as far as she could, allowing his exploring mouth further access to her.  _

_ “The name or me doing this?” He queried, his groin now pushing into hers, letting out his own moan of pleasure as he felt her push herself back against him. _

_ “Both,” she whispered.  _

_ Theo let out a low, animalistic growl, “Good.” He stated simply, before grabbing her behind roughly, dipping his hands slightly to the back of both her thighs and using this as leverage to pick the witch up, kissing her mouth hungrily as he did. She responded immediately, throwing her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, lost in the absolute enigma that was Theodore Nott. _

 

“Did you have a good day?” She mumbled, her voice obscured slightly from the fact she had pressed her face into his chest.

“Yeah, actually. Me and Draco are working together now, we’re helping to plan all the new security measures.”

“That sounds interesting.” Evra replied, “better than my day, anyway.”

“Hmmm? How come baby?”

“Spent  _ all day  _ with Draco’s mum. She’s so boring!” Evra replied and she felt Theo shake slightly with an unheard laugh. “It’s not funny!” She complained, “it’s alright for you, you’re  _ out there,  _ doing stuff.”

Theo stroked her hair with his left hand and her back with his right, “I know baby, what would you like to be?”

“What would I like to  _ be?”  _ She threw his question back at him, pondering, she drew away from his body, just enough to look her wizard in the eye, “I want to  _ be _ the greatest. With you”

Theo observed her, his mouth twisting into a smirk, “Me too, baby. And one day, we will be. One day...we’ll have the whole world.”

Evra found herself laughing, outwardly, and unashamedly, which Theo mimicked perfectly. She regained her composure and bit her bottom lip, gazing up at the wizard she loved with all her being. “So how do we get there?” She asked, the corners of her mouth twisting into what she knew was a smug smile

“It’s just a case of biding our time and playing our cards right. Right now, we’re arising.” His reply stunned Evra into a standstill of awe, as she examined, yet again, the way his eyes always lit up as he spoke of the future,  _ their  _ future. 

 

_ “Can I tempt you, my beautiful Evra?” Theo asked, as nonchalantly as if he were asking to borrow a quill, definitely not as though he’d just dripped melted chocolate in a vertical line leading southwards from his belly button. It was his eyes, though, on top of his actions, of course, that did all the seducing, and tempting Evra needed. _

_ “You could tempt me into anything.” She replied, her mouth already making a slow descent down Theo’s torso. “You already tempted me into sleeping down here with the snakes.” She added and Theo snorted. “That’s because it’s much better down here with the snakes.”  _

_ “Hmmm,” she said, through a sporadic mix of chocolate-flavoured licks and firmly planted kisses on the bottom of Theo’s toned stomach, “I do happen to have one favourite...snake.” She stopped her actions just long enough to throw Theo off guard, before placing her mouth over her, already hard, favourite snake. _

_ “One day,” he gasped between involuntary moans, “I’ll give you the whole world.” _

 

“How do you feel about tomorrow?” Theo asked, running the tips of his fingers down a strand of red hair that had come undone from Evra’s tied-back ponytail. It was currently Friday evening, meaning their marking ceremony was set for the following afternoon. 

“I feel...okay.” Evra answered, running her own fingertips over Theo’s shirt collar, he had obviously discarded his robes upon arriving back at the Manor, leaving his current attire a pair of slim, smart black trousers and a fitted black shirt. His clothes only accentuated his toned, lean physique. Evra’s fingers began to automatically undo his shirt’s buttons, slowly, one by one. His smooth skin appearing before her only heightened her want of him. A moan escaped his lips as hers pressed against the centre of his chest.   
Theo finished the task of removing his shirt from his person himself, throwing the garment hastily aside as his hands worked their way down Evra’s back and finding the bottom of her black vest. In one swift movement he removed the top hastily from her body. Theo pulled her close to him, kissing her vigorously, his tongue wrestling against hers as his hands ran over every inch of her they could find, before he walked them the two steps it took for the back of Evra’s legs to touch the bed, and in one instant, he roughly pushed her onto the mattress, causing a gasp of surprise, then an understanding giggle to erupt from the witch. She waited impatiently, propping herself up onto her elbows as she watched him undo the buckle of his black, leather belt.    
“Oh, I almost forgot, you are most distracting, did you know that? Looks like we’ll be getting married.” Theo stated, finally having the belt fully open, he moved his fingers to the button of his trousers. 

“What?” Evra asked, genuinely wondering if she had misheard his words.

“Some law the Dark Lord is going to enforce,  _ think he’ll be announcing it at the ceremony tomorrow, _ something about needing more pure blood births, anyone of  _ procreating age _ ,” he air quoted the last two words, smirking at Evra as he did, “has to get hitched, then get it on.” He finished with a wink, his trousers now in a crumpled heap at his ankles, before climbing onto the bed, and Evra’s awaiting form. 

 

* * *

 

_ Part Four _

 

Alive

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


Evra jolted awake the following morning, unsure of what exactly had woken her, she rolled over, enabling herself to watch the sleeping form of her wizard. Theo’s dark hair was strewn, floppily over his forehead, his face looked calm,  _ serene  _ almost and his mouth was hanging slightly open. Evra’s gaze followed his body southwards, his breathing was deep and undisturbed and Evra found herself entranced by the way his chest rose and fell. 

 

_ He was all she needed, all she craved and he wanted to give her the world. _

 

Evra deliberated what the day might entail. Draco had informed them both that the Marking Ceremony was painful, but he had been reluctant to divulge any more details. She wondered if anyone else was to be Marked, and realised, almost guiltily, that she hadn’t seen any of her other friends since the battle. Theo had informed her that Crabbe and Goyle; Millicent and Astoria had all survived, he guessed they would be taking the Mark at the same time he and Evra were; he had spoken to several others also, most of whom had already been assigned the positions they would undertake in the new, this time permanent ruling of Wizarding Britain. The majority of the Order had been either incarcerated or killed. Evra briefly wondered where, and  _ who,  _ was still alive. Shocked, even to herself, that she barely felt more than mild curiosity over the status of her once-family.  _ Theo is my family now,  _ Evra internally stated to herself. Her mind fleetingly drifted to her childhood,  _ of hand me down boy’s clothes and poverty,  _ and the summer they had spent living in Grimmauld Place with the escaped convict Sirius Black,  _ who lasted one year before failing to not get himself killed. _ Evra shook herself, waking Theo in the process, “Hi, baby,” he said sleepily, rolling over to face her, a mischievous smile already placed upon his lips. “Hi, yourself,” Evra replied, turning herself over so the couple were face to face. 

“How’re you doing?” Theo asked, his hand reached towards her, finding a strand of red hair that had fallen in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear, he leant forward and planted a chaste kiss upon her mouth.

“I’m...really okay, actually,” Evra responded, huskily.

“Good.” Theo barely had time to speak the one syllable aloud before his hand had snuck around the base of her neck, and her face was brought to meet his, in a kiss that, this time, was far from chaste.

 

“This robe doesn’t even fit me a little bit,” Evra commented, two hours later, she lifted both her arms outwards, exhibiting just how much the heavy green fabric drowned her small frame. The display drew a laugh from Theo, who fit slightly better in his own ceremonial robes. The dark haired wizard crossed the bedroom in a few short steps and took both of Evra’s shoulders in his hands, squeezing them gently, “This is just another step, one day-,” Evra placed a hand gently over his mouth, cutting him off, she continued, “-we’ll have the world.” Before reaching up to plant a brief kiss where her hand had rested a second before. He chuckled in response at her interruption, and, whilst looking over her robed body, said; “You look good in green, I’ve said it before but you definitely should have been in Slytherin.” He gave her another quick kiss before asking, “You ready, baby?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Evra breathed. “Theo?” She began, unsure of how to correctly word the question brewing in her mind.

“Mmhmm?”

“Is everybody going to get Marked now?”

“Nah, I doubt it. Only Death Eaters have it, and not everyone can be a Death Eater, even now.”

“Okay, so, we’ll be Death Eaters?”

“Looks like it...you sure you’re okay?”

“And Death Eaters are seen as more important, more...powerful?”

Theo grinned in response to the ghost of a smile that had crept over his witch’s mouth, “You know it, baby.”

“Then I’m definitely okay, let’s go.” Grabbing his hand in hers, she marched the pair from the room.

 

The Marking Ceremony was due to take place in an easterly-facing drawing room. Draco had informed them it was the same place he had taken the Mark. The walk there was a short one, considering Evra and Theo stayed in the same bedroom from the eve of the battle, which was located on the ground floor. It took the pair less than five minutes to reach the entrance to their destination, where they were greeted by a number of hooded figures, all silent and wearing sinister masks. Evra had seen the masks before on a couple of occasions and had rather liked the idea of owning her own. Voldemort was standing close to the rear of the room, in front of what looked like a large black alter, only it strangely didn’t seem to have any real solidity, and in fact, the more Evra scrutinised the object, the more it appeared to be constructed from a gas, it resembled smoke more than anything else, yet it stayed entirely in the shape it had been cast. Evra revelled at the sight of it, the height of the room and about a third of the width. She could almost  _ feel  _ the powerful magic radiating from its majestic presence. Feeling the grip of Theo’s hand tighten slightly in her own, they began to walk through masked crowd. Evra noticed familiar faces watching her as the approached Voldemort. Just as Theo had predicted; Millicent; Astoria; Crabbe and Goyle were present, along with a two other boys she thought she recognised as former Slytherins that had been a couple of years above her.   
  
Evra’s attention was drawn back to Voldemort almost instantaneously, the leader clapped his hands together once, suddenly. Every person that occupied the drawing room instantly stiffened, the Dark Lord held their full attention almost effortlessly, something Evra couldn’t help herself but admire.   
“Ahh,” Voldemort began, “Our newest…recruits.” His trademark hiss resided in the air after his last word. “As you can all see, my friends, we have eight new loyalists to our cause, each and every one bringing, I am sure, a set of unique talents and abilities.” His red eyes swept the line that Evra, Theo and the others had formed as he spoke. Evra’s face was pointed, steady and unafraid, towards their leader.

“It is time,” Voldemort continued, “for you all to join us, come.” He beckoned his long, pale fingers for them to step up to the smoke-alter.   
“Rodolphus, have you the concoction?” Voldemort asked, scanning the length of the room, from somewhere behind her Evra heard a familiar voice speak, “Yes, my Lord. It is here.”

One of the hooded and masked figures appeared in Evra’s line of sight. Rodolphus, she assumed, was carrying a small, dark wooden circular tray, similar to the ones that the Malfoy House Elves used in their service. Upon the tray sat eight small tumblers, similar in size to that of a whisky glass. The tumblers were half-filled with a dark liquid, almost black in colour, although Evra noticed as it bobbed slightly with the motion of the tray being carried, the liquid had a deep red tinge. 

“Excellent, please,” Voldemort beckoned to the altar as he spoke, and the masked Rodolphus placed the tray on top of the altar, which despite its appearance, held the weight of solid wooden tray easily.    
“All prospective Death Eaters, those who I trust to take place in my inner circle;  _ to serve and defend in my name and to follow my leadership without question _ , are required to undertake three tasks, which are all encompassed within this ceremony,” Voldemort stated to the silent room. “All three are tasks of fealty, allegiance and loyalty. The completion of all three is what makes you...a Death Eater.” 

Evra swallowed, her curiosity was peaking as she tried to ignore the nerves bubbling in the pit of her stomach.    
Voldemort clapped his hands together, twice this time, in quick, short succession. A movement from the other side of the room caught her attention, as Evra and the majority of the occupants of the room, swivelled her head. A large, black curtain that Evra had failed to notice previously was located to the far side of the room, acting, she believed, as a makeshift divider. The curtain fell, dramatically in one swift movement and Evra couldn’t help but let out a small gasp as she saw, bound and gagged, eight individuals. All looked conscious but unable to move an inch. 

“The more astute amongst you will have noticed that the number of...guests we have over here,” Voldemort beckoned to Evra and the others with his right hand, “perfectly matches the number of guests over there,” this time he used his left hand to motion towards the kidnapped individuals across the room. 

“And we have some lovely… family reunions!” The dark leader cried, earning him an audible snicker from the few of the Death Eaters. “Miss Bulstrode, you will notice your filthy, blood traitor aunt Sevempra over there; Mr Nott, Avery managed to track down your long-lost mother dearest, hiding out in a remote part of France...the coward that she is...and lastly, Miss...Weasley,” he paused for the briefest of moments at his mention of her surname, “It wouldn’t be a proper affair without one of your former brood present, would it?” Evra swallowed again, her throat dry as she fought to keep her shocked breathing steady, as she looked across the drawing-room, into the hauntingly familiar blue eyes of her father. 

Evra barely noticed Voldemort had started to speak once more, she knew what was coming, she had been foolish to not think The Dark Lord would set further tasks for his recruits. 

 

Evra had known a long time ago before she even began to speak to Theo, that she did not possess her family’s views on blood status. She  _ liked  _ blood purity, Voldemort had commended her blood status before he even returned as the Dark Lord, when he was technically still Tom Riddle, even though  _ that  _ boy no longer existed, when she had written to him, explained her confusion, her thoughts and fears, he had listened, or whatever the equivalent of listening in the context of a memory shard. She had spent hours upon hours writing in the diary, telling Tom all her deepest secrets, about her juvenile crush on Harry Potter, her feeling,  _ which at the time was slight enough to hide completely,  _ superiority whenever she got the chance to say she was a pure blood.    
_ You should never have to feel shame because you were born better,  _ Tom had written, and Evra had agreed, hating more and more as each year passed, that her pureblood status was meaningless, because it _ wasn’t _ meaningless, not to her. 

When she began speaking to Theo, and eventually Draco and the rest of his friends, it was a breath of fresh air, she could express herself and  _ be  _ who she knew she wanted to be. Once Theo had invented the name Evra, it was as though she  _ became _ a different person, her  _ true self _ , she often thought, a self where Ginny was a memory and Evra was a reality. 

When she’d left her parents, she hadn’t looked back, she’d tried, unsuccessfully, to explain her feelings in as sheltering a way as possible, but to no avail. Disowned,  _ and perhaps rightly so,  _ Evra often mused, considering she’d spent the majority of her sixth year in Theo’s bed, carrying out the Carrows’ bidding without much question. 

The stark truth was, Evra felt  _ alive, _ for the first time in her life, alive with Theo and alive with herself. No longer the smallest, the weakest, the one that needed protecting from everything, she was standing on her own two feet, with only Theo conscious of protecting her. And she felt truly powerful, and strong, which she eagerly fed off, grew from and relished in. 

Theo’s hand was still crushing hers as a clearing was created through the hooded figures; Evra watched as Voldemort led the recruits through the crowd until they were standing, each in front of their respective  _ task. _

Arthur Weasley had clearly seen better days, his middle-aged body was bruised and swollen; his clothes were more bloodstain than not. It was his eyes, however, where his true pain truly lay, as he watched his only daughter psych herself up, to kill him. 

Evra forced any emotion from her face, she was well practised in but never had she faced such a test of will. She remembered something Draco had once said;  _ the Dark Lord likes his followers to look their victims dead on, he wants you to see the life leave their eyes.  _

Evra steadied herself; she placed her feet slightly apart and her shoulders back, and she forced herself to look, unseeing into the eyes of the man who had helped to bring her into this world. This world that,  _ if she didn’t kill him _ , she would end up leaving herself. And Theo certainly couldn’t give her the whole world if she was no longer a part of it. That thought was all Evra needed to focus herself, and when Voldemort cried a high pitched “KILL THEM,” she was amongst the first to say a cold and collected “Avada Kedavra.” And as the life left Arthur Weasley’s eyes, in Evra’s mind, there was nothing but Theo. 

 

* * *

 

_ Part Five _

 

Piercing

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


The magical bonds that had kept the eight prisoners in place were broken once their victim had deceased. Eight bodies crashed, in an undignified fashion, to the hard flooring. Evra heard the crack of eight skulls hit the solid wood. Grateful for the chance to avert her eyes from the sight, which was harder to avoid in the aftermath of her curse, she turned to her left, to face a paler-than-usual, but still calm, Theo. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly the tiniest whisper of a smile graced his lips. They had no more than a few seconds before Voldemort demanded the attention of the couple,  _ and subsequently everyone else located within the drawing room,  _ almost immediately. 

“You have all passed your first task, with little to no hesitation I may add, excellent. Now come,” a slender, pale hand beckoned them back the way they had come, towards the makeshift altar. Once they had returned, and the watching bodies had rearranged themselves surrounding those undergoing the ceremony, Voldemort spoke once more, “You second task concerns the concoction Rodolphus brought us earlier,” he gestured to the tray of glasses as he spoke, “this prepares your body for the spell I cast in order to set the Dark Mark into your skin.” He made a come hither motion with his right hand, signalling a Death Eater, who Evra assumed was once again Rodolphus, to come forward and pass the glasses between the eight. Evra examined hers once it was placed into her outstretched hand; the liquid looked thick and somehow shimmery, there also seemed to be a small cloud of steam she had failed to notice prior resting atop the liquid, which, to Evra, was odd, as the glass felt quite cool in her grip. 

“It is worth mentioning,” Voldemort began explaining, “that each glass contains a quantity of my blood, which is required for the binding magic used in the Mark’s spell. And also, if you have any untrustworthy intent; were you here, for example, to spy on our circle, it will kill you...and it will be painful. Now, drink up!” 

_ Right, let's do this,  _ Evra thought to herself, focussing on keeping the disgust from her face first and foremost and then forcing the liquid down her throat. She downed the measure in one and instantly regretted doing so. Evra’s glass fell from her hand as she grabbed her throat, which she was certain was turning into molten rock. She struggled to breathe, to scream and even see as the pain gripped her, radiating from her throat outwards to every orifice her body possessed. Until, all of a sudden, it was gone. The pain subsided as fast as it had appeared, and Evra stood, shakily realising she had dropped to her knees, which on closer inspection, the other candidates all had as well. She was the first to rise, the first to complete the second task and Voldemort’s red eyes bored into her as she placed herself in her previous position, trying to ignore the agonising sounds that Theo was making on the floor to her left. 

“Ahh, Evra. You shall be the first to complete the ritual,” Voldemort addressed her directly, gesturing her forward as he spoke, “I shall place the Mark upon your skin first.” 

Evra nodded and automatically began the short walk forwards towards the magical altar, upon it lay an intricately carved knife, its handle encrusted with carved serpents, its blade glinting in the light of a large chandelier that hung from the centre of the ceiling. 

“Do not be afraid, my child. It will only take a minute,” Evra heard Voldemort hiss as she instinctively climbed atop the front of the altar, somehow knowing just how to position herself as she lay on her back, pulling the sleeve of her robes back, she outstretched her left arm, giving him full access to her pale forearm. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the piercing cut she knew was imminent.  

The pain, Evra was relieved to realise, was far more tolerable than the effects of the blood potion. It was painful, of course, but she found her body able to deal with it far better. Her hearing was oddly distorted, all sounds of the room she knew they were in were incredibly distant, as though she was underwater, she was sure she heard shouting, but was entirely unable to divulge who or what they were caused by. Evra felt her eyelids grow heavy and a dizziness overcame her, which only intensified the longer she tried to fight against it. 

“It is complete, you may rise Evra.” She heard from a somewhere above her, realising the dizzy sensation had dissipated, Evra opened her eyes. She blinked, looking up to see the back of Voldemort’s tall frame to her left addressing the crowd as she shakily sat upright, examining the magical tattoo now permanently inked onto her arm.

“-my great surprise, I must admit even I was fooled.” She heard Voldemort speak, clearly still talking to the throng of onlookers, Evra looked around, her eyes scanning the faces of those still to follow her, Crabbe was looking particularly sick. Evra watched him gulp before her gaze shifted, searching for Theo’s face in the lineup. When she failed to find it, Evra felt her heart begin to hammer, _something was wrong,_ she instantly knew, and as she searched the sea of faces and masks alike, hopelessly, she forced herself to look downwards, as the dread in her heart grew stronger, erupting in a piercing scream of fury and heartbreak as her eyes clamped onto her wizard’s lifeless body.

 

Time seemed to become the most abstract of concepts, as Evra threw herself from the altar and all but crashed entirely onto Theo’s breathless frame. She was certain she had only just descended upon him, already sobbing, crying his name along with a chorus of no’s, when she felt a pair of arms snake themselves around her waist, lifting her gently from him. “No!” She heard herself scream, unwilling to put even a centimetre of distance between them, certain that somehow, in some way, he would open his beautiful, dark eyes to her once more. He couldn’t be gone, “HE CAN’T BE GONE!” She screamed, repeating her thought out loud as she thrashed against her carrier, who refused to give in to her physical demands, carrying her from the room entirely and expertly navigating the ground floor of the Manor, arriving promptly,  _ with the struggling witch still locked in his arms _ , at the bedroom she’d all but lived in since the eve of the battle.  

Draco placed her on top of the large bed, the last place she’d lain with  _ him,  _ her Theo, and she screamed, fully, and loudly and openly, until her throat cracked and her voice failed her, until she fell, in a pile of sobs onto the mattress, Draco rubbing her back as he perched on the bed in a stony silence.

 

* * *

  
  


_ Part Six _

 

Duty

 

* * *

 

  
  


“Ev?” She heard him call, from the corridor outside her room, accompanied by his trademark knuckle rap on the door. 

“Yeah, Draco, come in,” Evra said in reply, her voice monotonous as she lay, as she had for the last six days, unmoving atop the bed, Theo’s shirt covering her small frame.

Draco entered quickly, crossing the room in a few steps and positioning himself into a seated position, perched on the edge of the bed. 

“Ev, you’ve been summoned. You need to go.”

“No.” Evra stated, simply, unable to imagine anything she desired to do less.”

“It’s not...up for debate.” Draco spoke through clenched teeth, “He’s...not too happy.”

“Why?” Evra queried, not entirely sure why she asked, possessing no real desire to know the answer.

“He...is angry,” Draco began, clearly choosing his words carefully, “he’s not happy that he let a... _ traitor _ in so deep.”

Evra sat up, suddenly full of rage, “Theo was  _ not  _ a traitor! You fucking know that!” she shouted at the blonde wizard.

Draco’s eyes were facing the floor, when he answered her, his voice was entirely calm, despite Evra’s outburst, “I...do not believe he was either. But he died after drinking the potion. There aren’t many conclusions to draw from that.”

“Do you not think I know that?” Evra snapped, internally cursing Malfoy.

“Ev, you need to get to the meeting, do you understand? You do not want _him_ to be the one to come looking for you.”

Evra nodded, she swallowed hard and rose, her body feeling odd and heavy as she moved; in truth, she felt very little other than utter grief, but a small part of her was scared to attend this meeting, and another small part of her was afraid _not_ to attend. 

The walk to the dining room was far shorter than Evra would have liked, the only thing she felt capable of thinking was to uncover who, or what, had caused this to happen, to take  _ her  _ Theo from her, and in the brief walk to reach her destination, Evra’s mind had somewhat pushed her grief aside, _ for now _ , and was entirely focussed on one thing. Revenge. 

She knocked on the heavy wooden door, which swung open almost instantly, allowing her entry. She raised her head, forcing herself to repeat in her mind that she had no fear, which was, for the most part true,  _ I have nothing left to lose,  _ Evra internally rationalised, realising that her fear, short-lived as it was, really had no bearing on her.  _ There’s nothing they can do to me that will hurt more than losing him. _ The thought was the oddest comfort Evra had ever felt, and yet it gave her the courage to walk, head held high, into her first Death Eater meeting. 

“Ahh, Evra,” she heard a familiar, cold voice say, “it was...good of you to join us, despite the recent tragic passing of... young Theodore.”

Evra knew this in itself was a test, and so she formed her response carefully in her mind before replying, “I  _ did  _ feel the loss, of course. But, I realise now he was clearly a traitor. And I can no longer mourn a traitor, my Lord. I just...wish I had known. He was a fabulous actor.” Her voice was steady and slow, and her closing words even earned her a murmur of amusement from the other occupants of the dining room. Evra looked at them all and the now familiar faces all looked up at her as she scanned the vicinity of the room. She heard a scuffle behind her and turned to see Draco enter, carrying a large tomb which he presented to Voldemort, before returning to his designated seat. 

“Ah, thank you Draco.” Voldemort acknowledged, before turning his attention back to Evra. “There is an empty space in the centre of the table, Evra. Would you take a seat?” 

“Of course,” she stated, simply. She found her facade easier to upkeep than she would have thought, her face remained utterly deadpan as she sat in her assigned chair. She found she was sitting opposite Lucius Malfoy,positioned in between Rodolphus and Avery. Draco diagonally to her left. 

Voldemort cleared his throat, “Now, as I was saying, it is abhorrently obvious that more pureblood births are very much needed. It is to become  _ law _ for you all, and every serving member of my society, providing you are of,” his red eyes rested solely on Evra for a brief moment before he continued, “childrearing age, it  _ will  _ be the duty of each of you to provide a pureblood heir. You will marry your selected partner, of course, we must keep things...civil.” He ended with a calculating laugh, which every Death Eater,  _ whether genuinely, or falsely, in Evra’s case _ , mimicked. 

To Evra’s left, Rodolphus cleared his throat, “My Lord?” He ventured. Evra watched Voldemort, attempting to gauge his reaction.

“Yes, Rodolphus?”

“Is it preferable, to yourself, if two of your inner circle marry each other? The heir that will be produced would be raised on the strongest of your principles.”

“Indeed, it would be, of course. Who did you...have in mind?”

“The beautiful witch to my right, of course,” Rodolphus finished, smacking his hands together as he did.”

Evra blinked, it did not take her long to work out who the witch to Rodolphus’ right was.  _ Marry a Lestrange? No. _   
“A most...interesting idea,” Voldemort answered Rodolphus’ request, as his red eyes met Evra’s brown. He continued, his voice sounding somewhat more sinister than usual, “Evra, you wouldn’t...object at all?” He asked, and as much as she wanted to scream  _ yes, of course, she objected to marrying fucking Lestrange _ , she just knew his question was yet another test.

“N-No, of course not, my Lord.”

“Excellent. Congratulations.” Evra heard him hiss and found herself primarily concerned at present with keeping the tears that were threatening to fall at bay and away from sight, it was as though Theo’s death hit her all over again and all she could bring herself to do was she nod through her shock, and her pain. 

The meeting ended rather abruptly, and Evra found herself bombarded with an unwanted barrage of unwanted and false-sounding sentiments of congratulations. Rodolphus looked to be in his element, “-just doing...my duty.” She heard him say, his yellowing teeth visible through his heinous smile. 

She wasn’t even sure how, but Evra eventually found herself alone with him, her  _ fiance,  _ she supposed, she wasn’t sure whether she felt more disgusted, or furious. In reality, she knew she was both, and yet, she also had a strange sense of an odd calm. She certainly wasn’t  _ okay  _ with the way the meeting had concluded, but as she thought, quietly,  _ her hand brushing lightly against her Dark Mark _ , that yet again, she had nothing more to lose, vowing to herself that her career as a Death Eater would be spent finishing her and Theo’s plans, with one slight modification:  _ I’ll burn you all to the ground, and claim the whole world.  _ That’s  _ my  _ duty. 

 

The few weeks following the meeting sped past like a blur; a torturous, slow blur. Voldemort, presumably wanting to make an example out of the young wizard he felt betrayed by, had encouraged his other Death Eaters to mutilate Theo’s body, which, in the case of Evra, had been yet another of his unspoken tasks of loyalty. Luckily for the witch, the vessel that had once held the other half of her soul, became just that: an empty vessel, and especially since it had swollen and changed somewhat on its own, Evra was more than capable of separating the two in her mind, as she, along with the others, cast pointless hex after pointless hex at the dead body.

Evra no longer cried for Theo, instead, she filled her long days with thoughts of nothing but hurting all of those who had hurt the two of them. Truly, she no longer cared what, if anything, were to happen to her. She played her role perfectly because she held no rhyme or reason not to. 

Her and Rodolphus’ wedding had been set for the following weekend, the  _ bullshit affair, _ Evra began to refer to the event in her mind was planned entirely without her assistance, and in fact, she was fairly certain that, apart from the obvious, her only duty would be to show up.

She heard very little from Rodolphus, which suited her fine, and even Draco seemed to keep his distance now,  _ or perhaps not,  _ she deliberated internally, she had never been particularly close to Draco, he’d never  _ really  _ been her friend, in fact the Malfoy heir had only ever really had one title in her mind:  _ Theo’s best friend.  _ Taking a deep breath Evra consciously decided it was better this way; perhaps she’d work harder on gaining admiration, than friendship, which would most likely serve her far better.    
Evra had little to no duties, something which,  _ when she took a second to think about _ , she found rather insulting. She was just as capable, if not more, than carrying out Death Eater bidding. It was not advised to approach the Dark Lord directly with any complaints over current placements, but Evra barely  _ had  _ a current placement, surely asking him directly to undertake further responsibilities would only serve to make her look the most eager, one of the most loyal.

_ After the wedding,  _ she bargained with herself,  _ then I’ll tell him I want to undertake more duties. _

 

* * *

  
  


_ Part Seven _

 

Broken

 

* * *

  
  


Evra woke on the morning of  _ the bullshit affair, _ the same way she always did, suddenly, and with a tiny part,  _ a part that seemed to be shrinking every passing day, _ of her searching for the warm arm that  _ should  _ be covering her. The remaining majority of her realising,  _ almost instantaneously, _ that she would never find it again. 

Sighing, Evra rolled onto her back, Theo’s shirt bunching slightly around her back. She had been briefly informed by Narcissa that last night would be her last spent in Malfoy Manor after the reception was over, she was expected to live with Rodolphus. 

Narcissa had explained,  _ almost excitedly _ , that it was an old pureblood ideal that a newly married wizard would buy his new witch a whole new wardrobe, to be ready for her immediately after they were wed. 

_ Oh, fantastic.  _ Evra had thought sarcastically at Narcissa’s words,  _ some new robes make marrying that idiot entirely more worthwhile.  _ The red-haired witch rolled her eyes, turning away from the Malfoy matriarch without so much as a  _ goodbye  _ and sashayed away back to her room, just as she always did, with no more than a thought of  _ stupid woman  _ rolling around her mind. 

 

Evra examined the ceremonial robes someone,  _ most likely the interfering bat that was Narcissa,  _ had hung delicately in front of the door. They were far too white; far too big and with far too low a neckline. Evra rolled her eyes,  _ fucking pervs,  _ she thought of no one in particular.    
Dressing silently, Evra knew she was expected to be entirely naked beneath the robes, she shivered once ready, vaguely wondering what the day would entail. She wasn’t alone for long however, as a quick rap at the door, which turned out to be,  _ of course,  _ Narcissa.

“I thought I could help you fix your hair and makeup,” the older witch spoke slowly, as though she were gauging Evra’s reaction as she did. 

“Fine, whatever. I don’t really care.” Evra answered, honestly as Narcissa, a slight smile now upon her face, moved into the room, beckoning for Evra to sit in a plain, wooden chair she tended to throw discarded clothes upon. She watched as Narcissa summoned a House Elf, a female elf Evra had not seen previously,a called Rowen. Rowen appeared carrying a small case that Evra assumed was carrying various beauty products. It had been a while since Evra had bothered to care about her appearance and found herself not hating the feel of Narcissa’s expert fingers running over her partially made up face.   

“I understand today was...probably not what you had planned for your wedding,” Narcissa said, her voice low.

Evra all but laughed, “You could say that.”

“I understand,” She heard Narcissa whisper, “This life…it is about... _ surviving _ . Often nothing more or less.”

Evra nodded, but said nothing in response, allowing the blonde witch’s words to resonate with her for a moment. Surviving had _technically_ already become her primary goal, _once Theo was taken from her_ , and even then it had seemed impossibly hard to find the motivation for some days.    

 

“It is time, dear.” Evra swallowed hard at Narcissa’s words but managed to keep her face calm, something she had all but perfected over the last few weeks. Nodding, she turned to face the elder witch. Perhaps Narcissa wasn’t  _ too  _ bad after all. It may pay to have one ally, at least. 

“Where is the wedding taking place?” Evra asked, her voice steady and collected. 

The wave of darkness that briefly crossed Narcissa’s face didn’t go unnoticed by Evra, this was clearly a subject the blonde witch was not keen on broaching. 

“It is...set to take place in the drawing room.” Narcissa finally spoke and Evra felt her hands engulfed by both of Narcissa’s.

“The...the  _ drawing room?  _ Where...where he? Oh fuck. No.”

“It is...an unnecessary cruelty, I know,” Narcissa said, clasping Evra’s hands tighter still. “You  _ will  _ get through this Evra, of that, I have no doubt.”

Evra found herself only able to nod. Words utterly failing her, but the knowledge that the goal she’d set herself was well and truly a necessity, and an odd calm washed over her as she envisioned this  _ bullshit affair  _ solely for what it was, only a stepping stone to reach a place where she could hurt them,  _ truly  _ hurt them all. 

For now, she just had to survive. 

 

Narcissa accompanied Evra the short distance to the drawing room. She forced herself to attempt to forget the last time she’d walked this path, with Theo at her side. Focussing her attentions entirely on her current task at hand. Surviving _ the bullshit affair.  _

The two witches were the last to arrive at the large room. In truth, it looked none too dissimilar from when the Marking Ceremony had taken place. The smoke-altar was once again in place,  _ or perhaps it remained there constantly,  _ Evra realised that she had no knowledge of the room, or altar, other than the ceremonial occasions. 

The wedding itself,  _ some form of ancient bonding ritual _ , was to take place in front of the altar, and as Evra took her position, beside the waiting Rodolphus, she knew she had been positioned, _ in what she could only imagine was yet another hidden loyalty test, or perhaps at this stage, nothing more than a cruel joke,  _ in the exact spot that Theo had been standing in, when he was taken from the world.       

Rodolphus’ eyes scanned her body up and down, unashamedly so. His hand was outstretched, which Evra took without hesitation. The bile she had felt rise up to her throat had thankfully briefly diminished. 

Voldemort himself performed the short ritual, Evra hadn’t paid his words much attention as she fantasised about unleashing a copious amount of fiendfyre in her new husband’s undergarments. So engrossed in her private reverie, Evra barely noticed the words “kiss the bride,” erupt from Voldemort’s mouth, and was momentarily stunned when Rodolphus’ mouth clamped itself onto her own, in what she was certain must have looked like a grotesque, one-sided display of affection. His lips left hers after,  _ what felt to Evra _ , far too long. His mouth moved its way across her cheek, stopping at her ear where he whispered a sinister sounding, “You are mine now.”

Evra hoped she successfully hid the shudder that encased her body once he finally broke away.

 

The ceremony ended quickly, Evra scarcely believing the awful truth that engulfed her; she was actually bonded with this...this person, whom she couldn’t stand. Trembling slightly, Evra allowed herself to be passed from Death Eater to Death Eater, all of which spoke a distorted sounding  _ congratulations.  _ Evra plastered a smile on her face, wincing every time an unwanted hand touched her. Rodolphus found her an hour later, grabbing her arm tightly in his left hand, as he steered them both towards large doors, he stated,  _ with a gleam in his eye _ , that their attendance at the reception would not be required, saying he wished to show Evra where she would be living, and for her to see the collection of new garments he had carefully selected for her. 

Evra shrugged, her mind as empty as her response, she couldn’t care less where they want or what they did. She knew his plan most likely involved very little to do with her new wardrobe, and most likely had everything to do with consummating the complete farce that was their marriage. Evra sighed, she detested this man in front of her but she knew she was too broken, too detached, to object. Enduring his kiss had been bad enough, and in reality the thought of bedding this man was not a pleasant one, but she knew that she had to comply, to get anywhere in this new world, a world that was cruel, and broken and delicate, but at least when it still contained Theodore Nott, there had been a small beauty amongst the chaos. Now there was nothing but a barren shell of a world Evra had voluntarily stepped into, for  _ him.  _ And now he was gone and she was alone,  _ more alone than she’d ever been _ , in this room full of people. The same room he’d died, and left her, in. 

Now the only thing that Evra cared about, involved destroying every part of this world,  _ the world she was stuck in _ , without him. 

So she allowed Rodolphus to latch his firm grip onto her arm, and he led, taking no care about whether she had clear passage or not, out of the drawing room, and into the dining room, which held the nearest floo point.

 

* * *

  
  


_ Part Eight _

 

Reckoning

  
  


* * *

 

 

Rodolphus’ home was modest in size and relatively well kept, in another lifetime, Evra might have even thought it  _ nice.  _ The gothic furnishings complimented the dark walls, art pieces and hangings perfectly. 

“Would you like a drink,  _ wife?”  _ Rodolphus asked, placing such an obvious amount of disdain on the last word that Evra actually found her head jerking to face him.  _ Once,  _ she mused to herself,  _ I would have been afraid of that tone. Not now. _ Evra looked her husband dead in the eye as she replied, “No, I wouldn’t,  _ husband.”  _ Mimicking the way he said his last word perfectly with her own. 

Rodolphus laughed, outwardly. 

“You really think you’re playing in the big league, don’t you,  _ slut?” _ His insult was meant to hurt, Evra knew that and she refused to give him that power, forcing her mouth into a dry smile. 

“That’s no way to talk to your wife, Rodolphus,” Evra replied, her tone purposefully full of false sweetness.

“You know I could wipe that smile off your whore mouth very, very easily?”

“Threatening me now, what a start to our married bliss.” Evra kept her voice steady as she watched him, her right hand gripping her wand tightly.

“Not a threat, you  _ stupid girl,”  _ he hissed, Evra felt the hair on the back of her neck begin to rise. Rodolphus looked more menacing than she’d seen. Her eyes didn’t leave him as he continued, “There are three words I could say that would turn that pretty little face of yours into a crying mess.”

Adrenaline rushed through Evra like a spitfire, if this was to be her life now, then she held it with no merit. She fought for a reason to stay quiet, weak and obedient. A part of her wanted to bide her time, not rise to his words and settle herself, but, she realised all of a sudden, that just wasn’t  _ her,  _ it hadn’t even been her. 

_ I love you _ , she thought, before she spat, “Try me,” back at Rodolphus, her face an unemotional mask and her wand poised, should she need it.

The Death Eater’s face distorted as his laughter returned. 

“You know this isn’t my first marriage?” He asked, his eyes boring through her, bulging.

“Of course I know that,” Evra snapped, glaring at the man in front of her.

“Do you know who took my wife away from me?”

Understanding washed over Evra like a wave, “That was why you wanted to marry me, to punish me for what my mother did to Bellatrix.”

“Not smiling now, are you  _ bitch?” _ He growled, “You’re only half right. I  _ will  _ spend the rest of your short life punishing you, but it’s probably time you found out,”

Rodolphus paused, and in that moment, Evra knew exactly what he was going to say. She recalled the memory of the Marking Ceremony. He’d brought the blood potion to the altar, presumably he’d brewed it. It wouldn’t have been hard to alter one, he could easily have known the order they would be standing in. He’d took exactly from her what her mother had taken from him. 

“Poison?” She queried, somehow managing to stop her voice from wobbling.

“Easiest kill yet.” He smirked as he replied. 

“He was never a traitor.”

“No, your precious Theodore was never a traitor.” The smile on Rodolphus’ face was triumphant, and in the following seconds, Evra had formed a plan in her mind. Her tears fell, blurring her vision but not her other senses. She knew  _ exactly  _ where he was at all times. Her shoulders stooped and her breathing became ragged, she heard him laugh, for which she was grateful because it meant she still knew exactly where he was.

“How do you feel now,  _ silly little girl?”  _

_ This reckoning is for you, baby.  _ Evra thought as she closed her eyes, choosing her words carefully, “How...do I...feel? Somehow...I think I knew all along. And you know what? I feel okay enough to do this. Avada Kedavra!”

Her wand had raised quicker than Rodolphus could realise, the curse hitting him,  _ thanks to her close attention to his position at all times,  _ square in the chest.

 

Evra stared at the body for a long minute. She was aware of the stark rise and fall of her chest from her heavy breathing. 

Her body seemed to move of entirely its own volition, and Evra found herself walking back towards the floo, she threw a handful of powder into the hearth and cried out a loud “Malfoy Manor!” 

She stepped out the fireplace they had disappeared in, in truth not fifteen minutes before. The only one present in the dining room was Voldemort himself. Were he shocked to see her, his pale face hid it well. 

“My Lord,” she began, dipping her head in a slight bow. “I’m afraid my marriage has ended, I am dreadfully sorry your precious time was wasted this afternoon.”

Voldemort’s red eyes regarded her as he sat with his long fingers touching, positioned casually beneath his chin, “And why would that be, Evra?”

“Because I just killed my husband.”

Voldemort’s expression was unreadable as he continued to watch her until his face broke into a wide smile, a flick of his wand drew out the nearest chair to him and her smile met his as he spoke; 

“Take a seat, my dear.”


End file.
